


Steady to the Shore

by coffeeinallcaps



Series: Three Points Where Two Lines Meet [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fingerfucking, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Wreck Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-16 22:26:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7287181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeinallcaps/pseuds/coffeeinallcaps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve always wanted it harder, faster, deeper; that hasn’t changed either. (“Oh, that definitely hasn’t changed,” Sam confirmed with a semi-smug, semi-fond look that made Bucky want to kiss the breath out of him.) Bucky remembers fleetingly thinking, on one of those cold nights in Europe, Steve’s fingers digging into his skin desperately enough to bruise, that sometimes it’s like Steve doesn’t <i>want</i> as much as <i>need</i> it.<br/><br/>Tonight is one of those times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steady to the Shore

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notcaycepollard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcaycepollard/gifts).



“He still looks just as good as he did seventy years ago,” Bucky told Sam the first time the three of them had sex, and both Sam and Steve laughed so hard for so long they almost didn’t make it to the sex part at all.

Bucky’s point stands, though. Steve does still look just as good as he did seventy years ago. He still feels just as good as he did seventy years ago as well, chest warm and firm under Bucky’s palms, and those hands, fuck, Steve’s hands—but most of all the tight heat of him, clenching and unclenching around Bucky to get him to go harder, faster, deeper.

Steve always wanted it harder, faster, deeper; that hasn’t changed either. (“Oh, that definitely hasn’t changed,” Sam confirmed with a semi-smug, semi-fond look that made Bucky want to kiss the breath out of him.) Bucky remembers fleetingly thinking, on one of those cold nights in Europe, Steve’s fingers digging into his skin desperately enough to bruise, that sometimes it’s like Steve doesn’t _want_ as much as _need_ it.

Tonight is one of those times.

They’re all still partially suited up when they finally stumble into their quarters again, filthy and sweaty and spent in the non-sexy way. Sam had nodded off on the way back to the facility, his forehead tipped against Steve’s shoulder. He’s rubbing the back of his neck now, yawning widely.

Steve is a few paces ahead of them. Bucky can’t see his face, but he doesn’t need to see Steve’s face to know that his teeth are clenched, a muscle ticking in that chiseled jaw of his.

“God, I need a shower,” Sam says when he’s done yawning.

“Steve’s nose has got somebody else’s blood on it,” Bucky points out. “We all need to shower.”

Steve calls out something from where he’s disappeared down the hallway. Bucky can’t hear what, because at the same time Sam is saying, “Yeah, no offense, but I’m not gonna try and squeeze into that shower cubicle with the two of you. I like breathing.”

“Dude, have you seen _yourself_ ,” Bucky says, offended on behalf of Sam’s body, “Steve and I are hardly the only—”

He doesn’t manage to finish his sentence, because Sam turns and takes Bucky’s face between his hands, and Bucky finds himself reflexively angling in for a kiss.

Sam hasn’t shaken off the remnants of sleep yet; Bucky can tell from the slow, lazy swipes of his tongue, the way he’s rubbing gentle circles into Bucky’s skin with both thumbs. This is something Sam likes to do on mornings when they sleep in, sometimes to coax Bucky awake and sometimes just because. It’s nice. It’s a thing Bucky will probably never tire of.

Sam’s lips brush pleasantly against the corner of Bucky’s mouth when he says, “Pretty sure we both know there’s something Steve needs more.”

“How about what you need, though?” Bucky says, because today hasn’t been a walk in the park by any stretch of the imagination. Just because Steve’s the only one who wound up with someone else’s blood on his face doesn’t mean he’s the only one affected by it.

“What I need is a long hot shower.” Sam drags the pad of his thumb along the underside of Bucky’s now-wet bottom lip and smiles that smile Bucky will also never tire of.

There are a lot of things about Sam that Bucky will never tire of. Maybe it’s time to stop trying to keep a mental list. There’s safety—comfort—in numbers, though, and a list that runs into the hundreds has a way of occupying the mind when necessary.

“Sure that’s all you need?” Bucky asks, just to check.

Sam meets his eyes and then smiles a different smile, sharper, the kind that sends a bolt of heat to Bucky’s groin.

“How ’bout you go get our boy ready for us,” Sam suggests, and the words conjure up an image that’s so fucking _filthy_ Bucky can’t think about anything else for a second. Before he knows it, Sam has already pressed a kiss to his temple and left him standing there, slack-jawed with his dick straining against his pants.

Sam Wilson, you goddamn tease.

In the bedroom—which is nice and toasty, Bucky notes with satisfaction—Steve is stripping out of his dirty uniform. Which is convenient, because Bucky’s not about to try and peel it off of Steve’s body for him. There are limits to his affection. Instead, he leans against the doorjamb and watches the muscles in Steve’s arms and back shift and bunch as he undresses. Neat.

“Enjoying the view?” Steve asks without so much as a glance over his shoulder. He hops endearingly on one foot, struggling to free the other one from his pants.

Captain America, ladies and gentlemen. The man with a plan.

Bucky says, “You know I am, Rogers. Do you really need to hear me say it?”

“Maybe I like to hear you say it.”

“Yeah?” Bucky says, pushing away from the doorjamb to tug his own undershirt over his head. “Maybe I like to hear you ask nicely.”

“Ask nicely for a compliment,” Steve says dryly. “That’s not exactly how it works, Buck.”

“Is that so,” Bucky says, but Steve is stepping out of his underwear now, which promptly inspires Bucky’s list of priorities to rearrange itself. ‘Being a little shit’ gets bumped down a couple of places. He sheds the rest of his clothes and makes his way over to Steve, who’s still standing with his back to Bucky, seeming lost in thought.

Aw, Steve. Always trying to carry the weight of the whole world on your shoulders. Sure, they’re broad, but they’re not _that_ broad. Leave some for the rest of us, will ya?

“Maybe we should wait for Sam,” Steve murmurs when Bucky slides his hands around Steve’s waist from behind, steps close enough to kiss the nape of his neck.

“Sam wanted some alone time,” Bucky says. “By which I mean he selfishly decided to go and have a shower without us.” That’s not actually what he means, but Steve will understand. He’s known Sam longer than Bucky has, after all. He knows.

Steve tilts his head back, exposing the long line of his throat to Bucky’s wandering lips. Good. “That’s not selfish as much as sensible,” he says, sensibly. And infuriatingly. “The three of us wouldn’t fit in the cubicle.”

Ugh. They’re ganging up on Bucky without even being aware of it. How awful.

“Honestly though, you’d think the architect of a building like this would at least _attempt_ to provide for all possible contingencies,” Bucky says. “I mean, where’s Thor supposed to shower?”

“In Asgard,” Steve says, and twists around to kiss Bucky.

It’s not at all like the leisurely kiss with Sam; there’s a certain urgency in the way Steve is pushing their mouths together, as though he’s afraid Bucky might slip away into the shadows if he lets go or slows down. He has wiped the smudge of blood off his nose, Bucky notices before closing his eyes and putting his hands on the curves of Steve’s shoulders, giving them a reassuring squeeze.

“Hey,” he mumbles against Steve’s lips, “how ’bout I get you all nice and wet for when Sam comes back to us, huh?” and Steve shivers against him before nodding.

He’s so beautiful, Captain America, Steve, their Steve, and he’s even more beautiful when he’s displayed—presenting himself—on the bed like this, on his knees and his forearms with his back arched prettily. He’s quiet as Bucky gets the lube and condoms and then settles between his spread legs. It’s a thoughtful quiet, but not a bad quiet. It’s already a better quiet than it was a few minutes ago.

“I really am enjoying the view, by the way,” Bucky says, trailing the fingers of his right hand along the back of Steve’s thigh, high up enough to make Steve’s body jerk and his skin ripple with goosebumps. Very good. “Just so you know.”

Steve huffs out a laugh. “Glad to hear it.”

“Hey, you might wanna watch your tone there, pal,” Bucky says. “A few minutes ago you were practically begging for me to say it.”

“Didn’t beg,” Steve says, but there’s no heat in his words. He sounds relaxed. He has melted back against Bucky’s touch, just a little. His head is turned to the side, cheek pillowed on the backs of his hands; his eyelashes are long and dark against his skin, his lips parted.

 _So beautiful_ , Bucky thinks. Fuck. Sam needed a moment to himself, Bucky knows that, and respects that, but part of him selfishly wishes Sam were here with them already. Wishes he could turn to Sam and say _God, look at him, all laid out for us like this, isn’t he just—_

He wants to look from Sam to Steve and then back to Sam again and think _Fuck, how did I even get this—_

Bucky leans down to press his lips to the dip of Steve’s spine. Steve makes a noise. It’s a good noise. It’s a noise Bucky would like to hear again. He quickly squirts lube into his right hand before tossing the bottle to the other side of the bed and sliding his metal hand up Steve’s back, all the way to his neck, into his hair.

Steve shudders, exhales loudly. The exhale turns into a soft moan when Bucky makes a fist. He doesn’t even tug on Steve’s hair, keeps his hand right where it is, but Steve is breathing hard anyway, trembling, his knees sliding further apart.

“Yeah,” he says, throat working, “Buck, c’mon—”

“Want me to make you beg for it?” Bucky asks as he rubs one slick finger down Steve’s crack, teasing his cheeks apart. Steve’s body jerks again, his eyes fluttering open and shut. Bucky’s dick twitches in response.

Steve says, breathily, “N-no. Not tonight.”

“Sucks,” Bucky says, and he starts to work Steve open.

Steve is impatient as ever, pushing back against him and telling him to _fuckin’ get on with it already, Buck_. Bucky takes his sweet time, though, slowly tracing patterns on Steve’s lower back with his free hand in an attempt to distract him. He’s able to slide three fingers easily in and out of Steve by the time Sam finally appears in the doorway, half hard and gloriously naked, with drops of water still clinging to his throat and collarbones.

“Took you long enough,” Bucky says once he has recovered from this frankly stunning view.

“Aw, Barnes,” Sam says. “Miss me?”

Bucky shrugs, nods. “Steve’s just not as much fun,” he says, tilting his head back for a kiss. He doesn’t get a kiss, but he gets the next best thing: Sam’s hand combing through his hair and then coming to rest on the back of his neck, heavy and warm. Comforting. A slight tremor runs through him.

“What’d you have in mind for us, Buck?” Sam says. He’s smiling, face soft, but his eyes are small and there are faint lines of fatigue etched around his mouth. They’re definitely sleeping in tomorrow, Bucky decides. The world will have to tough it up and do without the Falcon for a day. Sam Wilson needs a good night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast. Maybe a massage at some point.

And most importantly, of course, an orgasm.

“You get to fuck Steve,” Bucky says, adding, “but only if I get a kiss first.”

“Bucky,” Steve says in a great imitation of his own disapproving voice. “Stop talking about me like I’m not in the room. I’m right here.”

“I’m aware of that,” Bucky tells him. “I’ve got three fingers lodged inside your asshole.”

Sam laughs, eyes crinkling up at the corners. It’s a wonderful sound. Bucky’s tempted to give Sam free access to Steve’s ass just for that, but then Sam cups his jaw and kisses him, gently, and oh, that’s nice. That’s very nice. He smells good, too.

Sam lets go of Bucky and stretches out on the bed next to Steve to pull him down for a kiss as well. Bucky retrieves his hand—Steve makes a dismayed noise in the back of his throat, presses closer to Sam—and wipes it on the covers, starts patting around for the strip of condoms.

When he turns his attention back to Sam and Steve they’re full-on making out, Sam carding a hand through Steve’s hair. Steve’s hand is trailing down Sam’s side and his stomach. It brushes the head of Sam’s dick before making its way up his body again to rub his nipple between thumb and index finger. Sam shivers, his fingers flexing against Steve’s skull.

God, it’s a fucking sight to behold, the two of them like this.

How did he get this lucky.

The kiss tapers off. Sam shifts onto one elbow and places a hand on Bucky’s knee. He’s fully hard by now, cock lying heavy against his thigh. Bucky feels a surge of arousal. He’s tempted to lean in, wrap his lips around the glistening head. Take care of Sam, make him feel so fucking good; suck and stroke him to orgasm and then curl around him, Steve on the other side, together cocooning Sam in their body heat. Keep him safe, let him sleep for days if that’s what he wants, what he needs.

Bucky tears open a condom wrapper. Sam has pushed himself up onto his hands. He looks like he’s about to say something when Bucky reaches for him and rolls the condom down his dick, chasing his own hand with his mouth.

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ,” Sam says in a voice filled with wonder, low in a way that makes Bucky’s toes curl and his eyes slip shut. He can hear the sheets rustle—Steve, moving around. A hand lands on the back of Bucky’s head, weighing it down, and he can feel fingertips graze his jawline, his cheek, and.

It’s shockingly hot, not being able to tell which touch belongs to Sam and which belongs to Steve. Bucky is hard, has been hard since fingering Steve, but this makes his dick throb and heat pulse low in his stomach. It’s so hot he has to pause for a moment to regroup, to inhale deeply through his nose and keep the plates in his left arm from shifting back and forth.

He can smell Sam when he breathes in. His arm whirrs.

He could stay like this if he wanted to. First bring Sam off with his mouth, then Steve. Feel them both in his throat tomorrow every time he swallows or speaks.

He didn’t spend all that time working Steve open for nothing, though, so he sucks Sam down as far as he can take him one last time—Sam’s breath catches in his throat—and then sits up again.

“All right,” he says, pleased to hear that his voice is a little rough. He scoots over to the other side of the bed and flops down on his side, waves a hand at them. “You guys are good to go.”

They both snort, at the same time, in the same way. Bucky loves them a lot.

Steve’s moving back into his favorite position. Sam smooths a hand down his back. “Yeah?” he says, sliding two fingers into Steve, and Steve gasps shakily, says, “Yeah, yeah, fuck.”

Bucky lies back and strokes himself as he watches Sam line up, bend down to kiss Steve’s shoulder blade, then push in. He watches as Steve chews on his own bottom lip until it’s shining and flushed with blood. He watches as Sam screws his eyes shut and lets his mouth go slack, as Sam fucks Steve with thorough, deliberate thrusts.

He strokes himself faster when Steve starts making desperate noises, begging for it. “Harder,” Steve says, under his breath, and then, louder, “harder, Sam, please, I—”

Sam puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder. Steve moans when the next thrust comes harder, whimpers when the thrust after that is slower again.

“Please,” he whispers, “please.”

Sam squeezes Steve’s shoulder, glances in Bucky’s direction. Bucky gets the hint. He palms the head of his dick one last time before moving to the head of the bed and kneeling there.

“Hey,” he says, “Steve,” and Steve blinks up at him, teeth sinking into his bottom lip again. His eyes are dark, his cheeks flushed a rich shade of red. There’s a line of sweat on his upper lip and his hair’s a mess from both Bucky and Sam running their hands through it, and God, he looks good.

“God, you look good,” Bucky tells him. Both Steve and Sam moan at that, so he continues, “honestly, you have no idea, your _face_ , Sam, I wish you could, you should see his face—”

“I can imagine,” Sam says, breathless, but imagining is not good enough, he deserves to _see_. Bucky takes Steve’s chin between his thumb and index finger and carefully angles his head to the side for Sam to see.

“Look how flushed his cheeks are,” he says, “look at that swollen mouth,” and Steve _shudders_ , and Sam seems to choke on another moan and says, “Holy shit, Buck,” and Bucky feels very, very smug. He lets go of Steve’s chin, leans in. Steve’s breath is hot and damp against his mouth, coming in fast shallow bursts.

Bucky cups Steve’s face to hold him steady and does the thumb rubbing thing Sam is so fond of. “Don’t worry,” he says into Steve’s ear, locking eyes with Sam over Steve’s shoulder, “don’t you worry, Steve, we know exactly what you need, we’ll take care of you. We’ve got you. Sam’s got you, all right?”

“Oh my God,” Steve says, sobs, almost, oh shit, is he crying, but no, he isn’t, he’s just overwhelmed, probably, what with Sam filling him up from behind and Bucky cradling his head and murmuring things like _look at you taking it so good, you love this, don’t you, love feeling us inside you_. Steve’s soaking up every word, trembling all over with it. His eyes have glazed over.

Sam looks just as wrecked as Steve, fingertips digging in where his hands are clenched tight around Steve’s hips. His thrusts are growing less and less coordinated.

“He’s beautiful when he’s this needy, isn’t he,” Bucky says to Sam, to try and push him over the edge. In-between them, Steve hangs his head, wet strands of hair falling in his face.

“God, Bucky,” Sam gasps, eyes closed, “you’re such a fucking—”

Bucky can see the exact moment Sam’s orgasm hits him. It’s incredibly satisfying.

Sam throws himself down next to Steve. His chest is still heaving, but his eyelids are already drooping shut again. Which makes sense, and also makes Bucky want to hold him close and kiss him to sleep.

First things first, though.

He grabs a condom and rolls it down his dick. Steve has collapsed onto his stomach, a pretty, pliable mess. Bucky hooks a hand under his knee and pushes his leg higher up the mattress. It’s not the best angle, Bucky’s feet can’t really find purchase, but it doesn’t matter—they’re both close anyway, so fucking close.

Bucky all but ruts into Steve. He almost blows his load at the feeling of Steve so hot and tight around him, and then at the unexpected feeling of Sam’s hand brushing down the back of his thigh. Steve comes first, though, pulsating around Bucky, too wrung out to even make another sound. Bucky blindly reaches for Sam’s hand, threading their fingers together as he rides out his own orgasm.

It seems to take them all a lot longer than usual to catch their breath. “Everyone good?” Bucky asks eventually, wiping his forehead with the inside of his wrist.

Next to him, Steve lets out a weak affirmative noise.

“All good,” Sam mumbles from somewhere behind Steve. Bucky can’t see his face from here, which is an injustice that must be rectified immediately. He prods Steve in the side until Steve ducks his head and hides it between his arms, grumbling something.

Sam’s got his eyes closed. Not good. It may be hot in the room now, but it’ll cool down at some point, and wrestling the covers from under him will surely wake him up again.

Sam’s eyes blink open, find Bucky’s.

“Hey,” Bucky says softly, relieved. “You—we should get under the covers.”

Sam nods, cheek rubbing against the bed.

Steve grunts.

“You guys better not forget to turn off the light after brushing your teeth,” Sam mumbles when they’re all settled again, the words blurring together, and Bucky and Steve groan in unison.

Sam is long gone by the time Bucky and Steve get back from the bathroom. He’s breathing deeply and evenly, lying on his stomach in the center of the bed with the sheets pooled around his waist and one arm flung out to the side. Bucky takes that side, very cautiously pulling Sam’s arm around himself. Steve nestles against Sam’s other side, and they fall asleep like that, wrapped around Sam like wings.

**Author's Note:**

> Me: I am going to write some FILTHY OT3 PORN  
> Bucky: but what about my Strong Feelings  
> Me: no just wreck Steve with Sam  
> Bucky: I do what I want Thor
> 
> Writing in a new fandom is very exciting and more than a little nerve-racking, so if you enjoyed reading this, please consider making my day/year/life by leaving a comment (a few words, a gif, a ❤, it's all good, it's all great). And please come hang out with me on [on Tumblr](http://coffeeinallcaps.tumblr.com)!


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